Snow
by Naic
Summary: "Sam turns and runs, faster than he has ever run before. Tree branches scratch his face leaving red bleeding lines, long claws stretching out for him. He can't keep this up and he knows it." Story from three perspectives: Sam, Dean and Bobby. Please R
1. Sam's Story

_Snow_

_Sam's Story_

**Now:**

He runs. Powdered snow everywhere, in his eyes, making it hard to see where he puts his feet, sneaking in beneath his upturned collar, in the gap between his pants and jacket; causing involuntary shivers.

A bone chilling wind howls like a pack of starving wolfs all around him, tries to make him fall over on the ice slick ground he is running over.

The string of profanities that he utters is the only thing that tells him he is alive in this gray chaos, the world looks like it is ending just inches from him, everything outside: gray nothingness. No wonder the Norse's hell was a frozen over wasteland, this must be limbo. His muscles burn, his wounded arm throbs and every inhale is ragged and painful as the cold air passes through his throat. He keeps running.

The sound of breaking branches on his left. He spins around, gun raised although he believes his fingers are too cold to be able to pull the trigger. At first he just hears the sound of wood splintering and snow crunching as the hard surface breaks under a heavy weight, white curtains of snow clouding his sight. A shadow slowly asserts itself as it gets closer, outline becoming sharper as less swirling snow is left between them. Sam's entire body is shivering, fear and exhaustion together pounding in his ears so loud it almost drenches out the piercing gale of the storm.

He tries to keep the gun steady, outstretched in front of him, but he is just so tired. After what feels like an eternity to his adrenaline soaked perception he finally catches a glimpse of the figure bounding towards him.

Sam turns and runs, faster than he has ever run before. Tree branches scratch his face leaving red bleeding lines, long claws stretching out for him.

He can't keep this up and he knows it. His bleeding arm is leaving a trail anyone could follow but he can't stop to do something about it.

The panic sits high in his chest and he doesn't even try to stop the dry, hard sobs escaping from his lips. He can think of nothing to do, no plans, his mind blank with fear and he knows; he will die here in this frozen over hell. So he runs.

.

**Then:**

He should have known that everything would go straight to hell from the moment his brother had smiled over the dingy diner table and said "I'll be a walk in the park Sammy, don't worry". Dean had leaned back against the old, worn vinyl seat; telling Sam to relax, it was just another salt and burn.

As the third child came down with a serious case of death and they had ruled out a vengeful spirit the bad feeling in Sam's stomach had multiplied with a hundred but Dean just dug his heels in and told him to chill, they would get the thing behind this, Winchesters didn't give up.

So Sam did what he did best, researched, while Dean cleaned every gun they had, sharpened every knife, refilled every bottle of holy water and cursed the thing they were hunting in every language known to man.

In the end they had nothing, no clue, no idea what they were after and every fiber in Sam's body told him to run away, to leave this hunt. He told his brother that for every hunter there is that one thing that got away, and this might be theirs. Dean just turned the music up and floored the gas pedal. Snow clad landscape rolled past outside the Impala as they continued the chase.

They had eggs and bacon that evening. Powdered green tinged eggs that made Sam choke as they stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow them. They had followed their pray up into the mountains, it was running from them, that means it knows we are going to kill it Dean argued, Sam was not so sure.

Sam had slammed the door behind him, damn hunter's cabin. He had hated them as a child and he hated them still. Things hiding in forests were always bad news according to Sam. They had called Bobby in the end; he thought it might be a Kitsune they were hunting. A kind of Japanese fox spirit that akin to tricksters lured people by playing mind tricks on them. But this one seemed to prefer children, feeding of them. Bobby had no idea how to kill one.

So they had brought everything, every weapon they had, just in case. They had cleaned the trunk; Dean made some silly joke about feeling like Charlie Sheen in Hot Shots; too much firepower for their own good. They salted the doors and windows and filled the walls with protective sigils and set in to wait for daylight.

Sam had looked out over the landscape, the snow made it so bright even though it was in the middle of the night; the light from the sky seemed to reflect of the white snow creating a blue light that covered the landscape like a blanket. Dean passed the hipflask over to Sam, who took a sip. They sat in silence in each other's company in what Sam could only describe as the quiet before the storm.

A few hours later Sam had wished he had never thought that as the slate hammered against the windows and the wind was trying to take the roof off the cabin. The storm was not natural, no storm kicked in that fast, taking out cell reception and filling the only road away from the cabin with so much snow that they would never get away from there. Even Dean was quiet, jaws clenched as he checked his sawn off for the eleventh time. Nobody said anything but they both knew they were trapped.

It had only ever been a matter of time and eventually a salt line broke, the cabin was hardly windproof, the gale throwing itself against the cabin did its work. Sam looked at Dean, their eyes met and they nodded at each other, a lifetime of experience, understanding and love exchanged in a millisecond. An unspoken agreement with each other; if they were going they were taking this thing with them.

Everything from that point onwards had been chaos. The air filled with snow as the walls of the cabin broke down, splinters of wood and furniture flying everywhere. Sam slammed into the stove, shoulder first dropping his shotgun. He had heard Dean shout his name behind him, he tried to shout back but the fall had emptied his lungs of air.

He had scrambled to his feet, pulled out the gun and tried to find Dean. He had found him, lying still and broken on the floor, neck twisted the wrong way. The world had stopped for a second; even the storm froze as the world was pulled away from under Sam's feet.

He had to get away from there so he ran.

.

**The future:**

Sam will fall eventually.

A foot caught on an invisible stone hiding in the snow or a fallen branch and his tired body won't be able to parry, so he will fall face first into the snow hitting his throbbing shoulder. He will let out a scream of pain and fear as the relentless ground impacts with his body.

The howling gale will seem to laugh at him as frozen limbs desperately claws at the snow as he tries to pull himself up to keep running. Cold snow in his eyes will blind him and he won't be able to brush it off, his left arm hanging limp and useless down his side and his right will refuse to let go of the gun.

This will happen. It is one of those unavoidable facts of the universe, like gravity, war, sickness and death. Sam will fall and then it will all be over.

But right now he runs; muscles pumping, lungs breathing and his heart beats.

He is beyond exhaustion and despair but defies death by an unwillingness to give up. It is a fact of humans, sometimes they refuse to surrender, it doesn't matter how bad the odds are or what you throw at them; they simply won't give up. Hope and love these are their redeeming characters.

So Sam runs into the night, defying odds and the laws of nature by sheer human willpower, because there is always hope. He runs.


	2. Dean's Story

_Snow_

_Dean's Story  
_

**Now:**

He is standing back to back with his brother, like they always do; both trusting the other with their life. The small cabin rattles as the storm slams into the walls, trying to huff and puff its way inside.

Shadows appear at the corners, darkness solidifying and he realizes that the salt lines must have broken. Dean pulls up his shogun and pulls the trigger; the blast fills the tiny room, bounces from wall to wall, making his ears ring. The shotgun makes no impact on the shadows so he throws it away and grab for his gun, it is loaded with silver slugs, enough to make the thing look like a Christmas window decoration.

Something lunches for him so Dean rolls quickly to his left, out of the way, he turns around still rolling and puts three slugs into the thing and from here on mayhem ensues. The roof suddenly breaks of, screaming in agony as the rusty nails protest against being pulled out, dust rains down on the brothers and the air fills with slate and snow hammering against them.

Dean comes up on his feet, keeping in motion to minimize risk of getting hit by something, throwing holy water around like there is no tomorrow. The walls are giving up, being pulled apart log by log.

The furniture, what little there is, is picked up like toys by the wind. Dean throws himself flat on the floor as a chair comes flying towards him; he avoids the chair but not the table hitting him from behind.

He thinks he lost consciousness for a second or two. Everything hurt, absolutely everything. But Dean can take physical pain, he is used to it. The bottomless despair at seeing Sam's twisted figure on the floor in front of him is something completely different and it is far beyond pain. He scrambles over and falls down on his knees, the gale ripping his clothes, throwing splinters of wood at him, he doesn't even notice as he cradles his brother's lifeless form.

.

**Then:**

"Common Sammy, chill" His brother worried too much, Dean had given him a reassuring smile and finished his coffee; he almost spat it out again, crap it was stale. He looked at Sammy who still had that worried crease on his forehead; he was not going to give this up. "It will be a walk in the park Sammy, salt and burn the unliving shit out of that ghost".

They had gotten on the case after reading about it in the papers, some kid had been found dead in the woods outside his parent's house but the parents had sworn that the kid never would have gone outside o his own, let alone in the middle of the night. Sam had said there was something strange about it, like bad vibes, yeah sure things had looked weird, but since when was weird not a normal part of their lives? Besides, Dean would look after him, he always did.

They had been lucky, found the pattern the thing had been using to pick the kids; they all played in the same playground. They had narrowed it down and kept guard and on the second night it came. They had seen the kid leave the house, giggling and skipping happily into a small glade. They had brought salt filled buckshot and followed just managing to make it in time to save the kid.

The next day Dean paced in front of his car, waiting for Sammy. He was frustrated, the thing had got away –it had been no spirit that was for certain. Sam was talking to the kid inside trying to get info, Dean was too jacked up to talk so he was pacing, trying to invent new swear words as he tried to keep himself warm.

They were getting nowhere and Dean was still furious. They were just kids. Dead adults he could handle, they at least had a fighting chance at defending themselves. Going after kids, that made you deserve anything that came after you in Dean's book. So he had told Sammy that they would not give up until this thing was dead and buried.

Dean forced the pedal down a bit further, the faster he drove the faster they would get there. Sammy had called Bobby who had said some crap about a Japanese kite something. Sam had worked out the rest and now they were heading up the mountain trying to find the place where the thing hibernated when it was not feeding. He had tried to keep calm, didn't want Sammy to see that this case rattled him –had to be the big brother.

They had holed up in a cabin, not far from where they thought the thing was hiding. Sam was on edge, looking more skittish than usual, Dean tried calming him down, telling stupid jokes and offering drinks. They had salted the windows and doors and made all the preparations they could think of, now they just had to settle in and wait, Dean looked out the window. The snow really made the landscape brighter than it should during nighttime. Good –it would be harder for the thing to hide.

.

**The future:**

Dean will come to realize that this cannot be real, because there exist no alternative in Dean's imagination were Sam is dead and he still alive. Kneeling on the floor in the broken down cabin Dean will stab himself with his own knife. He will suppose that to others that would be one of those temporary moments of insanity, but to him it is pure logic, this is how you get out of bad dreams. He won't stab himself somewhere instantly fatal, just somewhere that would eventually kill him if he was wrong, because there is nothing he wouldn't do for his brother.

He will only be partly wrong; he will wake up bleeding on the motel floor. All windows open, cold winter air filling the room, a blizzard howling outside, winter was going to come early. He will lie there as red blood pools on the carpet, trying to assert himself to reality once more and establishing the location of his gun and of Sam.

He will realize that his gun is nowhere to be found but that he holds his boot knife, blade bloody. Sam will be in the bed next to him, his lips will be blue, skin grey, he will look almost dead except for the expression of pain on his face. Such pain can only belong to someone still living enough to feel it.

Over Sam's body a figure will seem to hover, a shadow, almost like an animal and it will have nine tails streaming behind it. Dean won't have taken the cold into account; it has seeped through his clothes and all the way into his bones. He is shivering, his entire body trembles from hypothermia.

He will try to get up on his knees but the effort will be too much for his body, weak from blood loss, so he will fall down again, cursing as he presses a bloody hand against the wound. Here Dean will lose consciousness thinking that this is all his fault, that he should have kept Sam safe. This is just one of those things that will happen.

But then on the other hand there is always hope.

* * *

_Last part coming soon: Bobby's Story. As soon as I finish editing it, untill then please let me know what you think!_


	3. Bobby's Story

_Bobby's Story_

**Now:**

Bobby is furiously trying to kick the door in, rough age darkened oak refusing to give in. The windows are gaping holes, glass broken, jagged shards everywhere beneath them like a bomb exploded inside. They might be broken but the windows are still barred, stopping his entry. Panic is starting to become a tangible thing; he kicks the door again refusing to give up.

Cold winter air surrounds him, grey overcast sky throwing a mixture of slate and snow in his face. The light above the door has given up, shrouding everything in shadows. The door is just one in a long row of identical doors, but this is the only one that matters. The sound of his steel clad foot trying to kick his way inside doesn't travel far; drowned out by the howling wind.

He refuses to look inside the window, he has already seen what's in there and the scene won't make for peaceful nights, unless he manages to break down this damn door. Inside two brothers are lying still and lifeless, one stretched out on the floor surrounded by a crimson circle of bright blood and the other on the bed.

Bobby kick the door like it owes him personally as desperation starts to pile up, this door just won't break and he has to get inside because he knows how to stop the thing now. By sheer stubbornness he lets his foot hammer at the door, again and again as hope is the only thing left to him.

**Then:**

Bobby had been reading about an Ethiopian exorcism ritual when Sam phoned. He was glad for the interruption, he hadn't heard from the Winchesters in a while and since John had packed it in he felt like it was his job to worry about them. He had told Sam to slow down "Just take it from the beginning; you're not making any sense to me".

Sam told him about the hunt they were on, children freezing to death outdoors in the middle of the night. Parents swearing they had locked all the doors and had no idea how the children got out.

To top this of several of the neighborhood cats had been found ripped to pieces. It had all started at the same time, there had to be a link but Sam just couldn't find it: "I haven't got a clue Bobby, could really use you help on this one."

"Sure Sam, wadda ya need?"

"If you had any idea what it is that be a start and how to kill it would be a great help."

Sam told Bobby that the children had all lived close to each other, just a few blocks away. On the day they had died the grieving parents had told Agents Bowie and Osterberg that noting unusual had happened, except that the children had all claimed to have seen a fox in the playground.

"You sure they said Fox, Sam?"

They were sure. Dean had kept an eye out on the playground while Sam did research; he had overheard the little boy tell his mom about a fox. So they had lurked outside the kid's house for two nights in a row, seeing the boy sneak out.

In a nearby glade they had rushed in, shotguns held high, to find the child on the ground, a shadow hovering, and Sam could have sworn it looked like a fox. Dean had shot the thing at point blank, salt rounds had as much effect as a muzzle on a hell hound. But they had disturbed it, Sam grabbing the kid and they both ran for it.

"I think it feeds on body heat Bobby"

Bobby had told Sam that his money was on it being a Kitsune, a fox spirit that according to Japanese lore feed on children, luring them away from their house in the middle of the night.

He had no idea about how to kill it. "But be careful you two, lore has it that it has trickster like abilities although I never saw one."

Sam had told Bobby that they would and told him he had to go, Dean was back at the motel.

Bobby had hung up the phone, poured himself a whiskey and sat down at his desk. There was something about this he thought. Why would the kids run out in the middle of the night anyway? He let out a sigh, he better do his research, maybe he had something on how to kill 'em in a book somewhere. He refilled his glass and set out to find out as much as he could,

A couple of hours later Bobby straightened his back, scratched his beard and said to himself, "I'll be damned"

He had phoned Sam, and then Dean. No answer anywhere. He hoped the boys had stayed out of trouble, but he suspected not. These spirits were indeed like tricksters, stories had it that they trapped their victims or anyone threatening them in an illusion while it slowly feed of their body heat until the victim either froze to death or became paralytic.

Worried now, he called the motel Sam had named; no reply. The next decision he made in a split second, his job to worry after all.

…

…

Bobby was pushing the van to its breaking point, swearing about the fact that this rust bucket had been the only thing running. As Bobby drives he phones the motel but there is no reply there either.

"You idjits better be alive so I can kick your asses when I get there" Bobby told Sam's voice mail as he tried to call again, it felt good to break the oppressive quiet in the car.

He pressed the gas down further, pushing the van to its limit driving above every speed limit possible; burning rubber like there was no tomorrow. Driving through the night he hopes above hope that he won't be too late.

**The Future**

In the end Bobby will take his car, he knows time is short, if it is not too late already. Throwing his cap on the passenger seat he turns the key. The rusty van will first refuse to start in the cold, he will hit the wheel praying to whatever entity that is listening. Just this once.

On the third try the engine will groan into life, cylinder slowly coming into motion, like the heart of the car pumping energy to its limbs. Bobby will take a microsecond to send away a thank you before hitting the gas.

The van will slowly increase its speed and finally slam into the motel wall, the metal of the car screaming in pain as it contorts and the wall crumble. In the rain of dust Bobby jumps out and while still running pulls out his knife.

Scrambling over broken furniture, pieces of plaster and beams his head will spin feverishly around trying to locate the brothers. He finds Sam half covered by a piece of plaster, lips blue. This is where he will make the mistake, running to Sam's outstretched figure he won't notice the creature made of shadows that jumps him from behind.

As Bobby hits the floor face first no one could have judged him harder than himself. Suddenly he can't move as a heavy weight on his back overwhelms him, forcing him down. He can feel his body heat start to trickle away, a chill creeping up on him as his life force is drained.

Lying on the floor Bobby sees movement on his left, it is Dean's boot covered foot sticking out from under a turned over mattress. He starts to shout, maybe there is still hope: "Dean stop laying about, get up son get up" And he knows the next bit is harsh, but he also knows it's the only thing that will get Dean on his feet. As Dean tries to get up Bobby shout at him time after time: "Get up Dean, get up, Sam is dying you have to save him." And Dean gets up, unsteady but he is up hand grabbing his knife.

"Cut the ninth tail boy, cut it, it can't move while feeding" Bobby will see Dean nod slowly, blue lips trying to mouth a yes. And Dean will, blade slashing the creature and a furious wailing howl will surround them as the storm gives its final dying shudder.

**An ending:**

It turns out that Sam is alive after all, suffering from hypothermia but alive and after Bobby patches Dean up it looks like he will make it as well. While the brothers load each other in the car Bobby swipes the plates from the van, the engine number he has filed of long ago.

Bobby gets in the front of the Impala, and takes Dean's heartfelt suggestion to: "Get the hell out of here."

…

…

Darkness surrounds them, their car the only one on the road and the two circles of yellow light in front of them the only illumination. Bobby casts a glance in the rearview mirror at the two brothers, swathed in every damn piece of clothing they own, sleeping away in the back seat. Turns out there were cause for hope after all.

-The End-

_Thank you for reading! I know it's a bit confusing with the time lines, but hope you enjoyed it^^ Please review, it means a lot!_


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